


Simply Makes You Stranger

by wir_sind_die_Jager



Series: Power and Chaos [1]
Category: Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Nolanverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wir_sind_die_Jager/pseuds/wir_sind_die_Jager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new intern at Arkham Aslyum has been handed what she thinks is a one-way ticket to fame and fortune of the psychiatrist world: one on one with the #1 criminal mastermind the Joker. Dr. Quinzel may have the most objectivity on hand but that may turn out to be a burden more than a blessing as the Joker has plans of his own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Originally written in 2008 and posted on Livejournal!
> 
> This fanfic is very precious to me as it is the first multi-chaptered, character driven fanfic with an actual plot that I'd written - completed - and received a decent amount of positive feedback on back in 2008. Now, half a decade later, my whole life has been changed by it; I have close friends made from this fic, and a career I'd never have had the courage to pursue were it not for the support of my readers. So I decided to give this fic a little boost by placing it on AO3.
> 
> It goes without saying that this was written well before The Dark Knight Rises was announced or R.I.P. and the new 52.
> 
> Note: Although this fanfic depicts graphic abuse, please know I do not romanticize nor condone it. If you or a loved one need help, please know there are free and confidential resources there to help, such as: http://www.feminist.org/911/crisis.html  
> Beta read by the lovely Beatrice.
> 
> Please enjoy.

**Summary:** The new intern at Arkham Aslyum has been handed what she thinks is a one-way ticket to fame and fortune of the psychiatrist world: one on one with the #1 criminal mastermind the Joker. Dr. Quinzel may have the most objectivity on hand but that may turn out to be a burden more than a blessing as the Joker has plans of his own...  
**Pairing:** Joker/Harleen (eventually)  
**Genre:** Drama/Angst  
**Disclaimer:** I own no rights and make no profit from this work of fanfiction. Rights belong to DC and mess of other people who will hopefully never read this.

  
**Simply Makes You Stranger**

 

            Harleen Quinzel, recent graduate of Gotham State University, slammed her pretty red pump against the gas pedal, flooring it. She let out a long, loud cry of frustration as she zipped through downtown Gotham, weaving in and out of traffic, trying to catch every single green light. She was fortunate that every cop in the city was already at the courthouse, eagerly waiting to hear the fate of the notorious mastermind criminal the Joker.

            “Thank God for over-hyped media induced paranoia!” Harleen exclaimed to herself, pushing her red mustang faster than the pack of horses it was named for. Seeing flashing lights ahead, she slowed to a stop at a red light she knew she could not escape from. Her heart racing as the clock chided her with her tardiness, something flashing in the corner of her eye grabbed Harleen’s attention.   

            Slowly turning her head to the passenger side, Harleen saw the source of the flashing lights. A grapple of city workers and fire trucks were stationed around what should have been Gotham General Hospital. Unable to form a thought until after the light turned green and half a mile away, Harleen finally wondered, _what the hell happened while I was gone?_

 

            Dashing up the stairs to the courthouse, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep balance and simultaneously resist the urge to look at her watch. _No use looking when you already know you’re late, Harl._

            “Just a moment,” an officer stepped in front of her warily, unsure what this pretty but distressed woman was doing. The city had gone through enough troubles over a short period of time; the last thing any officer wanted to see was someone running for dear life towards them.

            “For the trial...” Harleen lifted her identification badge and leaned down between her knees, trying to recapture her breath. She was in excellent shape but out of practice with her gymnastics. Running had never been an issue before, but mix in some killer new heels and a time frame and she was screwed.

            “OK, then.” The officer handed her back her badge and patted her on the back. “You needn’t run; they’ve delayed the trial by a half-hour. You still have another ten minutes.”

            Groaning at first, and then chuckling at the bitter humor of it, Harleen just shook her head and entered the courthouse. After going through the metal detectors and still being patted down (they took her nail file, damn it all) Harleen made her way to the elevators. A great commotion from a large board room piqued her curiosity. Peeping in, Harleen found the room crawling with every media network in the country, some even international. The gentle _ding_ of the elevator drew her back to her task, and soon she found the rest her of GSU group, angrily waiting for her at the fourth floor outside of the courtroom. They weren’t much company to Harleen, but their familiarity helped ease the nervousness that came with the intense security and media frenzy that engulfed the entire city.

            “Too good to get here on time, Quinzel?” growled a young man whose name always escaped Harleen’s memory. He always had to one-up her in all of the classes they had shared over the years. Ignoring him, Harleen joined the other graduate, Nancy, instead. Harleen preferred the frenemy nature of their relationship over open hostility.

            “How was your flight, Harleen?” asked Nancy with only a smidge of sarcasm.

            “Fine. Hey, why all the press and security?”

            “Are you kidding?” Nancy scoffed. “OK, look, you may have been getting a post-graduation tan down in Florida but back here in Gotham we’re just lucky to be alive.”

            Harleen rolled her eyes and walked down the hall to the drinking fountain. Such drama queens. They were both just incredibly jealous because in her last year at GSU, Harleen rose up the ranks and turned her grades around, quickly rising to the top one percent of her class; a position Nancy and the nancy boy had held and fought for their entire lives. Harleen couldn’t help it if she was more... _innovative_ than they were.

            Sipping from the drinking fountain, Harleen paused to note how peaceful and calm this side of the hallway was, despite the chaos everywhere else. So quiet, in fact, she managed to catch a part of a conversation coming from one of the brief rooms behind her.

            “Well?” asked a slightly nasal voice, with a touch of irritable boredom.

A long, drawn out sigh. “Honestly? With all they have against you? We need to plead insanity.”

            Harleen felt a chill in the air as the reply came back, each word accentuated icier than the last.

            “I. Am. _Not_. Insane.”

            “It’s the possibility of treatment in Arkham or the likelihood of the death penalty. The choice is completely yours.”

A pregnant pause and this time, Harleen was definitely eavesdropping.

            “Well,” came a maniacally chipper reply. “The animal farm it is. Why are you sobbing like that? Pull yourself together; you’re a lawyer for Satan’s sake, you’re not supposed to have _feelings_.”

            Harleen had heard enough. She rejoined her little group of animosity, now joined by Dr. Joan Leland, renowned psychiatrist and overseer of Harleen’s internship at Arkham Asylum. It was time for them to take their seats in the gallery and be privy to the sentencing of Gotham’s most notorious criminal to date.

\--------------------------

            Harleen had meant to get a good look at him when he was escorted by two armed officers, but Harleen had been too busy looking at her nicely painted red nails, mentally lamenting about the nail file. She was too late. Oh, well. Maybe she would glimpse him around in Arkham, if he was lucky enough to get there. Harleen only glanced once at the television in Ft. Lauderdale, she knew there was something about this guy’s face that everyone was making a fuss over.

            “The city of Gotham versus the terrorist calling himself...the Joker.”

The Joker pointed to himself proudly, flashing his lawyer a smile as if he had just made quarterback of the high school football team. His lawyer squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, cursing the day he ever got tangled up with Falcone, Maroni and the rest of these...well, jokers.

            The judge was none too pleased about the man of the hour’s name and before allowing the new district attorney to make his case, demanded a few answers of her own.

            “State your name for the court.”

            “Joker, The.”

Harleen pressed her lips together. _That was kind of funny._ Too bad the judge didn’t think so. She slammed her gavel down, completely disinterested.

            “You are in custody now, there is no make up to hide your face, and no point whatsoever in keeping up this ridiculous charade. Do I make myself clear?”

            “As crystal.”

            “Good. Thereby the accused shall be henceforth referred to as...Mr...?” She nodded towards the Joker. He tilted his head, seemingly unsure what she wanted to hear exactly.

            “Mister...J?”

She couldn’t help it; Harleen snorted back her laughter. It was all she could do to keep her amusement in, the palm of her hand pressed firmly against her mouth. Nancy and nancy boy glared at her, incredulously. The Joker turned slightly, hearing the noise of mirth he inspired by an easy set up. His natural smile curved slightly upward even as the judge demanded order in her court. Bored already with the proceedings, the Joker rested his head on his folded arms, his left arm bicep covering all but the very ends of his scars.

            “Counselor, how does your client plead?”

            “Not guilty by reason of insanity.”

The outcry from members of the gallery startled Harleen and it was a few moments before the judge could quiet everyone down.

            “Counselor, you know very well that in order for your client to plead insanity an examination and full mental health evaluation must be conducted.”

            “Yes, your honor,” replied the lawyer nervously. “Due to the hastiness of this hearing, as my client was only apprehended less than forty-eight hours ago, a full evaluation could not be appropriated in such a time frame. In lieu of this, I move for my client’s trial to be postponed until he can be examined by psychiatric professionals as he has demonstrated regular outbursts of...u _npredictable_ behavior stemming from deeply seated...” At this point, realizing the choice of word, the Joker’s lawyer looked down at his client, only to find two glimmering dark brown eyes staring up at him, daring him. “Wounds.”

            The Joker burst out in a fit of laughter. As his lawyer sat down, mopping the sweat off his forehead, he muttered, “No pun intended.”

            “Why not?” The Joker replied with a half-laugh, half-sob. “Takes all the fun out of the joke.”

            “Unpredictable behavior is how you define the dozens of deaths caused by your client?” The judge replied in disgust. “I don’t mind admitting that it pains me to do this but I have no other choice. I hereby sentence the man known only as the Joker to Arkham Asylum where he must be given a full psychiatric evaluation. Court will adjourn in six months time, after which I expect a full and complete documentation of the Joker from head to toe.”

            “Head, shoulders knees and toes, knees and toes,” the Joker sang softly under his breath, giggling afterwards. His lawyer grit his teeth, wanting to smack his client upside the head and only stopping himself because he will have to see him in six months. He was crossing his fingers for the judge to throw the book at the Joker and give a special allowance for a public hanging. Anything to get rid of him for good.

            _Still_ , thought the Joker’s lawyer as the officers escorted his client out of the courtroom. _Arkham is the perfect place for guys like him to rot_.

            Harleen tried to grab a quick look again, but the hulking officers flanked the Joker perfectly, obstructing her view. All she heard was the clanking of his ankle-to-wrist handcuffs.

            “You know,” said the Joker to nobody in particular, as neither officer was paying him any attention. “I was kind of insulted at first but I am beginning to really shine to the idea of a long vacation. Initiating utter ruin to millions can be _exhausting_!”

            “Now I’m actually kind of glad I didn’t get that Arkham internship,” Nancy whispered none too softly to their male colleague. Harleen ignored their pathetic jabs. What are the chances of an intern coming face to face with Gotham’s number one criminal anyway?

\----------------------------

            There were no mirrors in the cells that resided in the underbelly of Arkham. Mirrors were for the _privileged_ inmates, the ones who weren’t prone to smashing things to bits, even if it meant smashing a mirror with their own head, just to have a sharp object handy. No. Mirrors were reserved for good criminals, lost souls who just needed a hug and a good anti-psychotic prescription. Not people like the Joker.

            He wasn’t very vain in that he didn’t hold much in the way of esteem for his appearance, but the inability to see himself, to reassure himself, made this little game of being “insane” a bit uncomfortable. Discomfort wasn’t new to him, but having the Batman throw him around in the MCU was one thing. _He_ was in control then. _He_ had the upper hand. Now? Well, it didn’t take six months of psychoanalysis to see that within five minutes of being placed in his mirror-less cell the Joker had doubled the amount of times he compulsively touched his scars with his tongue. Just to make sure they were still there.

            An older-than-she looked doctor was soon in front of his cell, her arms crossed over her chest. He remained on his cot, vaguely wondering where Arkham bought all of its decrepit furniture from.

            “I’m Dr. Leland, one of the head physicians here at Arkham. I won’t be attending to you personally but I will be overseeing your progress and I will be the senior member in your case. It would only do you good to cooperate with everyone at Arkham. It will make your life for the next six months go by easier.”

            The Joker ignored this last part. Why make life easier when it could be hilarious?

            “If you aren’t my _psycho_...analyst,” he asked barely above a whisper, “Then. Just. _Who_. Is?”

            “To be honest with you, I haven’t the slightest clue. It is going to be difficult finding someone qualified enough as well as objective. You did a lot of damage, Joker. My challenge tonight is to dig up a staff member who you haven’t affected one way or the other, who can evaluate you with a clear and sound mind.”

            “Something I obviously lack, according to my lawyer,” grumbled the Joker to himself. To Dr. Leland he asked, “And did I? _Affect_ you?”

            Dr. Leland was too smart for that set up. Her impassive face remained flawless, though she scrutinized him with her gaze, unable to squelch the unprofessional part of her mind that had already judged him. “What amazes me most of all about your case is how clearly young you are. No wonder you wore all of that face paint, you obviously did not want anyone to detect that most of the men you were blackmailing and murdering were old enough to have been your father.” She threw up her hands. “But I’ll save that for your doctor to bring up. Still. It is a shame. All of that mastermind could have been something useful, contributive. Instead you let it turn you into...” She shook her head as he stared back in silence, waiting. She began to walk away, finishing her sentence barley above a whisper. “Nothing.”

            Leaping off of his bed, the Joker slammed against the protective thick glass door of his cell, beating against it with a fist and palm. “Oh, I get it, doc! I get it! It’s a bad joke, but a joke nonetheless! I’m nothing! Ha ha, I’m nothing!” His laughter continued to echo down the empty hall.

 

            He slept well that first night but awoke too early, much too early. There were no windows to the world upstairs and the only clock to be seen he would have had to get up from his cot and smash his face against the glass door in order to see. But he didn’t need a window or a clock to let him know that it was the middle of the night. He tried to lay perfectly still, first with his eyes shut tight, then wide open. With his covers, without. It was no use. His mind was racing and his body was dying to get back up to the inner city of Gotham and blow it all to high hell. He should be on a throne of dead bodies by now, watching the sky scrapers come crumbling down in a raging inferno. He sighed longingly, half of him wishing Batman had just let him plummet to his death, the other half wishing he had just killed that self-righteous prick. He would have gotten over it either way. Now? Now he was wide awake with nothing to do.

 

\-------------------------

 

            Harleen lay awake in bed, trying not to stare at the manila folder lying across her room on her vanity. Her mind was buzzing with excitement, trepidation, and even a little fear. Dr. Leland had called her around eleven o’clock that night with news that Harleen knew would change her life forever.

            “Harleen,” Dr. Leland had said. “Have you gotten started on that file on the Joker yet?”

            Harleen looked guiltily over at the thick folder, filled with copies of police reports, newspaper clippings and files all accumulated over the past month or so since the Joker broke out on the scene. She was supposed to have it down pat by the morning, but she hadn’t even cracked it open.

“Uh...”

“Good. Don’t.”  
            Harleen let out a sigh of relief. “Whatever you say, Dr. Leland. May I ask why?”

For a moment her heart froze; that rat bastard department head was going to stoolie on her and ruin her career before it had even begun.

            “Harleen, I know your first day at Arkham isn’t supposed to be until Monday but I am going to need you here tomorrow. I am going to start you working on the Joker case.”

            “Yeah, I have his file here, so you want me to start typing up notes tomorrow?”

            “No, I mean in person, with him.”

Harleen wanted to do a cartwheel, but then she would have had to put down the phone. She opted for a personal party as she cradled the phone with one hand, jumping up and down as she pumped her other fist into the air.

            “Thank you, Dr. Leland,” Harleen replied with restraint, wanting to shout her gratitude at the top of her lungs.

            “Now, listen to me Harleen. I don’t want you to read the news clippings because it will undoubtedly form a bias. However, I will type you up a file to go over tomorrow so you can prepare yourself.  Keep in mind this man is dangerous, seriously so. He is not to be trusted in any way, merely given his court ordered evaluation and taken notes on. I want everything done strictly by the books, no improvising. The last thing I want is for Joker to get creative. Do you understand? By the books.”

            “Sure, Dr. Leland. By the books.” Harleen was too ecstatic to listen to these boring old details. She would figure it out, she always did in the end. “Out of curiosity, why me?”

            “Your post-graduation getaway actually worked in your favor. Because you weren’t here for the more catastrophic events caused by the Joker you remain the most objective out of anyone on the staff.” Dr. Leland sighed and Harleen felt a stab of disappointment. Her boss didn’t _want_ her to work with the Joker, she just had no other alternative. Harleen was the last resort.

           

            “Whatever, Harl,” Harleen told herself later that night. “Once the media gets hold of your name, the young doctor who analyzed the notorious Joker, you’ll never have to worry about anything again.” She knew Arkham would eventually lead to her cash cow as it gained high profile criminals; having the prize handed to her on a silver platter like a graduation present was just the icing on the cake. Yawning, she turned over on her other side and curled up with dreams of grandeur lulling her to sleep.

\-------------------

            “Why orange?” asked the Joker, sitting crossed-legged on the floor of his cell, trying to have a conversation with the guard posted outside his cell. When he knew it was proper morning, he jumped out of bed and asked for his change of clothes. He was disappointed and more than a little irritated to discover that the prison orange coveralls were the day wear with dull grays at night.

            “I don’t know why,” snapped the guard. He wasn’t too bright and not keen on conversation. Joker liked stimulating conversation first thing in the morning, yet one so rarely presented itself to him.

            “So is this what my life is going to be like for the next six months, Jones?” the Joker asked. He did not actually know the guards name but he looked like a Jones. “Going to sit here, day in, day out in a darkened, padded cell with no one to interact with except Neandertal after Neandertal with a night stick? Hmm?” Jonesy didn’t take the bait. “All right. Tell me this: how soon does the average inmate turn into a drooling zombie? I’d like to know when to expect the strong craving for tasty, tasty brains.”

            “After meals there’s time in the rec room.” Jones nodded to one side. “If you behave, that is.”

 Ignoring the part about behaving, the Joker howled with laughter. “There’s a _recreation room_ here? Get to play some good ol’ billiards and board games? Maybe some foosball and ping-pong? Is there a team I can join? Are we called the Merry Maniacs?”

            “More like chess and television.”

            “TV,” replied the Joker with sudden comprehension and seriousness. “Of course. What better way to turn the citizens of Arkham into mindless zombies than isolation, poor nutrition and plenty of quality time in front of the boob tube.”

\--------------

            The Joker was escorted upstairs at midday and ate alone with only a rubber spoon as the single utensil. Never mind he could have given that sad little rubber spoon some _potential_ , but his curiosity over this “rec room” was too overwhelming to screw it up with petty antics that would find him right back in his cell. Therefore he tried to be on his best behavior, only showing off his “see food” once and only when the guards weren’t looking. He also couldn’t resist remaking the Devils Tower out of his lumpy, bland box mashed potatoes. No one got it, of course. Uncouth goons.

            It really was only chess, checkers and television, with some magazines here and there scattered across sad, dilapidated furniture. A television hanging high from a corner faced a patched up sagging couch where a lonely, graying gentleman sat. Joker sat next to him in what anyone else would deem uncomfortably close.

            “Hey, what do you say, what do you know. I’m new to this resort. What brought you in?”

            He received no answer, the man continued to stare blankly at the screen.

            “Murder?” the Joker asked. “Mayhem? Complete breakdown of the psychological system?” the Joker whistled, waving his hand in front of the man’s face but to no avail. “Anyone home? Hello?” He knocked on the man’s head but again, no response.

            “It’s no use,” said a lucid, intelligent voice from the closest table. Joker turned to see a dark hair man playing checkers with an obese bald man. “He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

            “Mm.” the Joker replied, giving up on the elderly catatonic and sitting calmly. He liked being the only one who was perfectly sane in this joint, but he realized that he would have to fight for that title with this seemingly sound minded man.

            “I’m Dr. Jonathan Crane.”

            “I didn’t know the doc’s here went incognito,” observed the Joker, winking as he tugged at his orange coveralls. This barb did not please Dr. Crane but it did not deter him either.

            “They showed your image on the television nonstop,” continued the doctor turned patient. Joker did not want to give Crane the satisfaction of his undivided attention so he turned to making faces at the catatonic mute next to him. “I have to admit, I thought you were going to be a lot older. Stop eating the checkers, Larry!” Crane suddenly shouted at his checker partner, snatching away his King.

            _Like a broken record around here_ , thought the Joker.

            “So, tell me Joker,” Crane went on nonplussed. “What exactly did you _do_ in Glasgow to earn that souvenir?”

            Joker stiffened in rage, his permanent smile hardening as his lips whitened in hot anger. Crane was smugly smirking. And just as quickly as the Joker’s anger came to him, it was washed away with a set of hysterics that echoed throughout the common room. Going back to making faces at the patient next to him, he almost didn’t hear Crane when he spoke next.

            “There you are now.”

The Joker turned to see footage of himself being placed in the back seat of the police car that took him to Arkham yesterday. The news proceeded to go over his resume of misdeeds, bank heist footage looping with a voice over. He looked on it with pride until new footage was shown, one he did not cause.

            “Disturbing as it may seem, the chaos left in the wake of the Joker has not ceased,” said the anchorwoman. “A bizarre group, presumably left over inmates from Arkham Asylum working for the Joker during his reign of terror, have been leaving graffiti messages to the citizens of Gotham along with a signature fire.”

            The Joker stood up and walked closer to the television for a better look. It was footage of a raging dumpster fire, glowing below three large words spray painted in blood red across the side of a brick building: **POWER AND CHAOS**.

            “Well what do you know,” said the Joker with soft awe. “I think my faith in the true nature of humanity has just been restored.”

\-----------------

            Harleen looked around in dismay at the glorified janitor’s closet Dr. Leland gave to her for an office. She said it was only for filing purposes, and that her actual sessions with patients would not be conducted in there.

            Dr. Leland gave her a small, single typed page on the Joker so Harleen could learn the basic facts about him before beginning their first session later that afternoon. The gist of it was he was dangerous, to be trusted under no circumstances, simply to be evaluated and observed. All of his actions and behavior were to be monitored and recorded. Harleen tossed the paper onto her desk and picked up the manila folder she had previously been asked not to look at. A quick peek couldn’t hurt anyone.

            Ignoring the newspaper clippings, Harleen instead focused on the photos from various video surveillance cameras, photos on loan from the MCU. _His outfit is strange enough_ , thought Harleen. That overcoat made him look bulky and burdened. And what about that make up? It wasn’t frightening to Harleen, it leapt out more as a mask than something used to instill fear with. It covered something up and Harleen did not know yet what.

            It didn’t matter what the file said anyway. Harleen had made up her mind to use this opportunity to its absolute fullest. Gotham’s recent misfortune would turn around and pave the way for Harleen’s success. The Joker’s infamy would catapult her career in ways she could have only dared to dream about before. If he had only committed even _half_ of the crimes she heard whispering around, it would be enough to feed the media hounds for years. And no matter what her reports read, this lunatic would spend the rest of his natural life behind some form of bars or another, leaving Harleen to move on to bigger and better prospects. Twittering kittenishly to herself, Harleen tingled with anticipation as she day dreamed about the wealth and fame dancing right before her meticulously manicured fingertips.

 

 

**TO BE CONTINUED**

 

**Author Notes & Factoids: **

 

\- The line about Joker’s “souvenir from Glasgow” is a reference to the kind of scars he has, which is commonly referred to as a Glasgow/Chelsea smile. It is a form of torture by cutting the victims face from the edges of the mouth, the results seen on the Joker in The Dark Knight. The torture originated in Glasgow, Scotland and was practiced in other parts of Britain.

\- Taking a few liberties with Harley’s background story but keeping the main gist intact.

\- The issue about the scar licking is an interesting one that I can actually relate to because I have a deep, long scar from four open heart surgeries that I compulsively look at as a source of comfort/assurance. It’s totally subconscious; I can’t keep track on how many times a day I look down to make sure it’s still there when it’s been around for over 25 years. I believe that this is the same kind of compulsion that the Nolanverse Joker has with his scars.

\- The Joker is notorious for being unable to get along with other villains, so much so he was denied membership to the Villains’ Secret Society in the Villains United/Infinite Crisis mini-series. He even murdered several members as a response to his membership denial. To quote Trickster: “When super-villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** The new intern at Arkham Aslyum has been handed what she thinks is a one-way ticket to fame and fortune of the psychiatrist world: one on one with the #1 criminal mastermind the Joker. Dr. Quinzel may have the most objectivity on hand but that may turn out to be a burden more than a blessing as the Joker has plans of his own...  
 **Pairing:** Joker/Harleen (eventually)  
 **Genre:** Drama/Angst  
 **Disclaimer:** I own no rights and make no profit from this work of fanfiction. Rights belong to DC and mess of other people who will hopefully never read this.

  
After watching two hours worth of afternoon cartoons, the Joker certainly felt like a drooling half-wit. He hadn't been this unproductive in years. None of the other residents challenged the Joker for control over the television and only Jonathan Crane kept on with conversation, though he mostly kept silent during the cartoons, groaning with disappointment when the Joker asked the nurse behind the chicken wire bullet proof casing to leave it at the mindless animations.

"You really are just a simple creature, aren't you Joker?" Crane asked, having moved onto chess. He had wanted to play cards but knowing that would only entice the Joker to join in and cause havoc, he changed his mind. "A child with a switchblade and a box of matches."

The Joker was in no mood for Crane's psychobabble. His classic, meaningless violent cartoons switched to some girly fairy friendly crap where the good was always rewarded and the wicked rightly put in their place. Everyone threw their heads back and laughed whole heartily at some stupid joke unworthy of the name and all's well that ends well.

"Do you get recognized much, Crane?" asked the Joker. "You know, without the potato sack on your head?"

Crane sent chess pieces scattering across the floor as he got up and marched over to the couch where the Joker pretended to be frightened, crawling backwards across the couch. Only his body was shaking not with fear but fits of laughter.

"Jonathan!" The nurse snapped warningly. Jonathan stopped at the edge of the couch and glared menacingly down at the new arrival.

"You may think you have everyone all figured out, including yourself, but I'm the great inventor here, able to reach into the depths of your very psyche and pull out your worst imaginable fears so that they are not only at the surface but walk, talk and hunt you down."

In a high pitched voice, the Joker squealed, "Don't be silly, Toto. Scarecrows don't talk!"

Bellowing a battle cry, Crane lunged at the Joker but was caught around his midsection by a burly orderly.

"Calm down, Crane," advised the orderly. "He ain't worth it. He ain't called the Joker for nothing; you're just going to have to be stronger than that." Joker remained laughing up a storm, causing the other patients to become spectators. Some became agitated at the madman's hyena-like hysterics while others joined in with their own unique chuckles, unsure what they were really laughing about.

Another orderly came up behind the Joker and gently tugged at his shoulder. "All right, come on Joker."

"Me?" the Joker cried. "He started it! I was just sitting here. I thought we were getting along." In a loud whisper, Joker added, "I think he needs to loosen up. Maybe an enema?" He flinched as Crane growled and pushed against the orderly that held him.

"No, I mean it's time for your session with Dr. Quinzel." The orderly made an effort to smile at the criminal, hoping this would encourage him to come along peaceable. It worked, though not due to any part of friendliness.

"Oh, boy." The Joker hoped over the side of the couch and waved goodbye to Jonathan Crane. "Bye, Crane. Don't forget to ask the wizard for a brain!"

 

* * *

 

Handcuffs were placed on him but he did not ask any questions, just raised his brow. They walked up two flights of stairs before he was let into a bright, warm room he had thought incapable of existing inside Arkham. A young woman with blonde hair and a doctor's coat was standing to greet him. The bun in her hair and glasses didn't fool him, though, as he eyed the high heels, tight skirt and nice figure.

"Barney!" he cried happily to the orderly. "You got me a stripper!"

  
"What?" cried Harleen, her composure lost instantaneously.

  
"I know you want to make me feel welcome," continued the Joker, giving the orderly a friendly jab in the ribs. "But this is really too much, though she is very tempting." He smacked his lips as he eyed her fiendishly. Trying her best to push back the scorn she felt from his callous remark, Harleen smiled through her narrowed her eyes. _Men,_ she scoffed mentally.

Barney coughed into his fist, trying not to show his amusement. "Now, now, Joker. This is Dr. Quinzel. She's your psychiatrist."

  
 _"Ohhh,"_ replied the Joker in mock regret as he walked past her and sat down on one of the comfortable leather chairs. "Oops. Sorry, Doc."

Regaining her composure, Harleen forced a smile and shook her head. "Quite all right." She motioned for the orderly to leave.

  
He eyed the Joker. "Don't give Dr. Quinzel no problems, you hear?"

  
"Cross my heart," said Joker as seriously as he could muster, even making the Boy Scout sign with both hands. Barney left them alone.

"I guess I'm going to have to get used to people mistaking me for something I'm not." Harleen did not elaborate but instead walked over and stood in front of her new patient. They stared at each other, taking one another in.

She was as clear as cellophane to him. With her little heart shaped face and petite figure she was probably called _cute_ her entire life, and any attempt to dissuade the word with mature clothing made her look like a little girl dressing up in her mother's clothes. Her feeble attempt to try and look professional was half-ass at best, with her tight skirt and naughty schoolmarm dime store reading glasses. Her blonde hair, bleached most likely, only added to his assessment of a kittenish dominatrix, so tightly wound up atop her head it was a wonder that it was real and not a pin-on extension. All she needed was a pink yardstick to dole out the spankings with. When did Lolita get her doctrine? This had to be some kind of bad joke.

Harleen had known there was something wrong with him physically, but she had not paid attention to exactly what that was. Now that the Glasgow grin was there before her eyes she did not know what to think. It wasn't sympathy precisely, but some other feeling she couldn't figure put a name on. His sickly green-brown hair looked like a bleach job gone wrong and shrugged off. Looking beyond these skin deep features, Harleen was startled to realize just how young he appeared to be. It was vaguely unsettling, knowing she was assigned someone close to her own age. A _peer._

"Excuse me," she said, taking her eyes off of him suddenly. "I didn't mean to stare. They didn't tell me..."

  
"Tell you what?" asked the Joker, wanting to hear it from her own perfect bubblegum pink lips.

  
"About your face."

  
"The scars?" he asked in a tone that suggested he had forgotten all about them. "You want to know how I got them?"

  
"Yes, yes I do," she said eagerly, sitting down opposite him with a clipboard on her lap. His eyes drifted downward as her slender, physically fit thigh flashed the top of a stocking and black garter. He looked back up at her and smiled.

  
"Remind me to tell you about them sometime."

  
"Why not now?"

  
"Why not now?" he repeated, sighing. "Because... _not now_."

  
"All right," she replied, confused. Why would he offer to tell her something then immediately recant?

Closing his eyes, the Joker turned his face away from her. He wanted to cut her up so badly it pained him to look at her. She was too perfect; her skin was flawless, her figure tight and thin with nice curves. She was leggy with all the right parts in all the right places, not to mention big blue eyes. He wondered how they would look filled with tears...or half-mad with terror. Goddamnit, was she part of some bizarre test in self-control? Serve him up some hot dish, see if he slices her up like sashimi in one go? _Hmmm...what was your motivation, Mr. Joker? Was it her youthfulness, her eagerness to be the best darn shrink, or pure boredom on your part?_

Opening his eyes, he giggled softly at this train of thought. _It wasn't my fault, your Honor. The lady in question was not a lady at all but a nymphet. You can't hang me for killing someone that isn't human._

 _  
_Dr. Quinzel opened her mouth to ask him something but he beat her to the punch line.

  
"How old are you?"

  
"Funny," she replied coolly. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

  
"It seems to be the topic of choice around the quilting bee."

  
"Does that surprise you?"

  
"I believe I asked you a question." He reminded her.

  
She did not see the harm in answering the question. "Twenty-six."

  
"Impressive, Dr. Quinzel." He made it a point to pronounce each syllable of her last name separately. "And just what kind of name is that anyway?"

  
"One I don't really care to discuss," she said dismissively. "Besides, we're here to talk about you."

  
"Right. What do you want to know? Besides another name, age, astrological sign and about my scars."

  
"All right. How about why you are in here. Do you know why you are in here?"

  
_Patronizing or is she just that much of a simpleton?_

  
"Doc, do you think I'm stupid?"

  
"This isn't about stupidity," she replied testily, pushing her glasses up on her nose, "it's about lucidity. Do you comprehend why you are here in Arkham?"

The Joker leaned forward, making air circles with his cuffed hands. "What I 'comprehend' is that my pussy lawyer was too scared to be seen on a long winded, dragged out trial with me and begged me to plead insanity so he could use these six months to magically disappear while I get-" he made air quotes -"evaluated."

  
"But surely you came here of your own accord. Your lawyer certainly didn't make you do anything you didn't already want to do."  
Aha. So she acknowledges that he has control over his what, when, where and who's.

"Of course not." He sat up again and shook back the hair that had fallen in his eyes. "I didn't want to be cooped up in some stuffy courtroom. I know what's to be expected there. _Here_ , however." He gave a side nod. "I was intrigued."

"Did you have any motivation behind your alleged crimes?"

"Alleged?" he cried out. "What's so alleged about them?"

"You admit to them, then?" she said warily, knowing she would have to record his admittance.

"Admit to them?" he cackled grotesquely. "There's nothing alleged about it. Doc, they are my pride and joy."

Harleen removed her reading glasses. "Then why didn't you plead guilty?"

"Now where's the fun in _that_?" he asked in all seriousness. They stared at each other, her trying to figure out where to go next and him mentally dissecting her, trying to figure her out. Clearly she was more than tits on a stick. He still wanted to cut up that perfect face but at least he could look at her now.

"You can chock it up to egotism, doc, but I'd like to know where you've been for the last couple of weeks." He pointed at her accusingly. "Obviously you weren't here to see my show."

"No, you're right, I wasn't. I just graduated and I wanted a little break before I started my internship."

"Where'd you go?"

Harleen shook her head, wondering why this guy was so interested in her boring life. She could hear Dr. Leland and Dr. Bartholomew screaming at her not to let him into her head with a lot of personal information but really, there was hardly anything personal about most of her life. _Most of it._ "Ft. Lauderdale, if you must know."

"Oh, ho, ho, ho," replied the Joker with a gleam in his eyes. "I see. You're not a stripper. No. You're one of those girls gone wild." He shook his shoulders in a parody of a sexy shimmy. "Lift your crop top up for a beer and some Twizzlers? Let some other drunken co-ed touch your breasts and talk you into being a twenty-four hour lesbian, you know, for the integrity of the film?"

Harleen tried to let it roll off her back with a theatrical eye roll. It was no worse than what they said in college. "Not exactly."  
"Just be sure to let me know when your DVD comes out, OK? I think it would make for far more _stimulating_ viewing than the crap they show in that depressing recreation room."

A hot flush rose to her cheeks but Harleen ignored the comment and changed the subject immediately. He prattled on some more about the joys of being in an asylum, even as he remained staunch about not being insane.

"Feigning insanity to avoid a long winded trial, even possibly the death penalty?" Harleen mused. "You're right. You're not insane, you must be a genius."

He glared at her disdainfully. "Doc, if you're gonnna use your textbook reverse psychology tactics to stroke my ego you might as well just get down on your knees, mmmkay?"

Harleen stood up, forcing herself to take a deep breath to release the angry rise he got out of her.

"It's men like you who refuse to take strong women like me seriously that take our society backwards."

"In my defense, doc, I don't take _anyone_ seriously."

Their time was up and Barney was back to escort the Joker to his cell.

"How often we have these little chats, Doc?"

"Every other day."

"Well, until then..."

"Until then," she replied, smirking as his back was turned towards her. "Mister J."

Sharply looking over his shoulder, the Joker managed to sneak in a quick wink before disappearing around the door with his escort.

 

* * *

 

The Joker spent the rest of the next day calculating where exactly he wanted his therapy to go. What path should he carve out for his little shrink? She was definitely interested in getting to know him, his secrets...and he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't out of professional responsibility so much as personal gain. He saw her seemingly innocent bright blue eyes light up at the mere mention of his scars. Any talk about his crimes against Gotham was like fodder. She was a gossip whore with a prescription pad.

He continued to contemplate this new direction in the common room as it was time for cartoons.

  
"Hey, Nurse Ratched," the Joker cried from the couch. "Change the station! I'm sick of this GCN swill."

The nurse glowered as she pushed the channel button hard. It was the same program on every station. She opened the window and smiled through her agitation. "Sorry, looks like every channel is covering the Harvey Dent memorial."

"Memorial?" Joker breathed, disbelief washing over his face. He watched silently as Commissioner Gordon stood at a podium talking of the great Harvey Dent. Banners with the All American white knight stood proudly behind the commissioner, firmly still believing in Harvey Dent. The Joker was stunned; who killed his protégé?

"Turn it up, damn it!" He snarled. Carefully listening to the do-gooder dribble, the Joker kept his attention alert for anything clueing him in on who the spoil sport may have been. Surely not...the Batman...?

"Laying on a bit thick, aren't they?" commented Crane, always having to stick in his unwanted two cents. The Joker ignored him. "Trying to preserve his squeaky clean image and letting the Batman take the fall."

"What?" the Joker hissed.

"Oh yeah," Crane went on, sitting down on the other end of the couch and folding his arms behind his head. "Harvey killed a bunch of people but of course nobody is going to put that down on public record." He nodded at the Joker. "Not bad, Joker. For your first creation anyway."

"Don't cock tease me, pretty boy," snapped the Joker. "How do you know all this?"

"What? Who doesn't know?" Crane said condescendingly. "Oh, well, I guess you don't. Harvey Dent, white knight of Gotham City, has woefully joined the ranks of committed madmen here at Arkham Asylum. He arrived last night after being in the hospital since that night you conducted your social experiment."

The Joker's eyes widened with a new sense of malicious joy. Crane shook his head.

"Don't even think about it; you're the last person Harvey wants to run into."

"So the Batman didn't kill him?"

Crane rolled his eyes as got up and walked away, saying as he passed, "Come on, Joker be realistic. If the Batman wasn't about to kill you he sure as hell wasn't about to kill Harvey Two-face Dent."

"Harvey two-face..." echoed the Joker, wallowing in a sick sense of paternal pride. So his little Frankenstein creature had grown up and was out trying to kill people all by his little self...It was almost enough to move the Joker. He was still mad that Gordon and the Batman beat him at his own joke with a cover up but _he_ knew the truth at least.  
 _Oh, who am I kidding?_

No, it wasn't enough for the Joker. He sat like a petulant child with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms tightly hugging them, trying his best to frown but knowing the cicatrices wouldn't fully permit it. Batman and Gordon needed to learn from this mistake. It was too late to use Harvey again. Besides, there was nothing worse than killing a joke by redundancy. No, a new pupil was in order....someone who didn't need to be pushed so _dramatically_...someone at his disposal who he could try out new tricks on...

Scanning the room the Joker's eyes only saw crazies and feeble-minded loons for no better purpose than lackeys. His gaze fell on Jonathan Crane but Joker squelched that idea before it even formulated. Crane would drive him nuts with his inane psychobabble...and though the Joker would love nothing more than to sew his mouth shut and slice him to ribbons, it wasn't worth having to put up with him to get that far.

_Think, think, think..._

 

 

* * *

 

Harleen let two weeks go by before standard procedure caught up with her. They had gotten nowhere in those two weeks. Every time she prompted him about his life before crime he remained in agonizing silence. He would often make lewd comments about her outfit, shutting her down into the uncomfortable silence. Any time she was able to get him to hold a conversation and keep it going she always, without fail, made the mistake of trying to go deeper. He would instantly shut down, shaking his head at her as if to say, _And things were going so well..._

Frustrated beyond measure, she now had to be firm with her patient and insist on going over a standard medical history form with him, a task that should have been taken care of upon his admittance.

  
"Keep your secrets about your past then," Harleen snapped when she saw that the Joker was going to put up an argument. "I don't need your name or birthday, this is just standard information we gather in case any medical issues come up."

"In case Crane gets the nerve to punch my lights out?"

"Sure, whatever," she answered dismissively. She was just as unhappy to waste time on paperwork as he was. Collating and clerical work was boring and should be taken care of by nurses, not a doctor. _But nooooooo,_ Harleen thought viciously. The Joker was to be handled by one and one doctor only: her. And every little shred of information had to come from her pen only.

"Proceed."

"Any family history of heart or cancer problems?"

The Joker laughed and shrugged. Harleen moved on but any question that had even the slightest hint at family was shrugged and laughed off. She could have answered any of these questions on her own without having to fight it out of him. She hoped the damn fool never got in an altercation and needed medical attention. He didn't know his blood type, did not drink, smoke or use drugs, had no known issues in the past aside from his facial wounds and was experiencing no other problems at the moment other than extreme boredom and slight irritation.

Dr. Quinzel hesitated, anticipating his reaction to her next question, but proceeded anyhow. "About your scars...did you receive any medical-"

"No," he cut her off firmly. Crossing his arms over his chest, the Joker felt suddenly pitched into a dark, cold sensation of humorlessness. He looked up to see her baby blue's peering at him from above the rim of her glasses.

"Do...you want to now?"

 _"No,"_ he replied in a dangerously low voice she had never heard before. Trembling, the Joker swallowed the urge to add _but thank you_ to his answer. Shaking his head, the Joker mentally brushed away his sudden bout of blues and put on a smile.

"Enough of this already. Let's play a game, doc."

Harleen looked up from her notes at the twisted grin opposite her. She pushed back her reading glasses. "What kind of game?"

"Modified twenty questions. You can ask me any five questions you like so long as they can be answered with a yes or no. After all is said and done you can ask me to elaborate on one answer." He held up one long finger. "Just one, though."

Harleen knew this was a way for him to avoid giving details but it was also a way of getting her foot in the door with him. Maybe that one answer would prompt him to go further in depth on his own. If it was one thing she learned quickly about him, other than his compulsive physical habit with his tongue, it was that he never passed up the chance to display his egotism.

"All right, then." She thought for a moment, figuring on going easy at first. "Are you over the age of twenty-five?"

"Yes and I am only going to advise you this once: I wouldn't waste your questions worrying about age. It's irrelevant to the ultimate purpose of your evaluation."

Harleen knew to give up on his past. It was clearly just that and even less to him. There was no past, just what he created as the Joker. It presented a unique hurdle for Dr. Quinzel, who had studied multiple personalities but never dealt with a personality that was created specifically to _permanently replace_ the original.  
"Fine. If you had the chance to rewind the clock and live the past two weeks over again,"

"Yes." Joker interrupted with finality.

"Do you regret any of your actions?"

"No."

Harleen paused, finding the game challenging. She had to think up two more clever questions, pack them in with as much details as possible and then reword them so they could be answered with only a yes or no. The Joker did not seem to mind waiting.

  
"Have you murdered anyone prior to the crimes known to the Gotham PD?"

His smile broadened. "Yes."

"Did you have a specific goal in mind when you committed the crimes you're currently being charged with?"

"Yes. Five questions, doctor." He rubbed the palms of his hands together and raised an eyebrow. "Which do you want to dive into?"

"The last one." She clicked the top of her pen repeatedly. "What was the purpose behind your offenses?"

"Why do you do that?" Joker snapped disapprovingly. "Why do you use such stark, clean words to cover up the meatier words? I know you want to say _murders_ or acts of terrorism or awe-inspiring monkey shines." He held up his handcuffed hands pleadingly and shook himself. "Just please stop using these sterile terms like they were on last week's vocabulary test."

"Fine. What was the purpose behind you murderous acts of terrorism and monkey shines?"

  
"Much better," he replied with a purr and a grin, abruptly calm now. "And you'll have to be more specific. Which shenanigans are we talking about? I've been a busy little worker bee while you were out slathering sun tan lotion and catching a few waves."

"The ultimate goal. Surely you had one. If everything had gone your way where would you be? Not sitting here with me."

"I wanted to give Gotham their ultimate freedom," explained the Joker with no trace of mockery. "I wanted to set these citizens free, like little birds that spent their entire lives in a cage. You see, doc, we're born stuck in a waking dream of black and white, like an old television show. We do what is expected of us. We go to school, we eat our Wheaties, kiss mom and pop goodnight, grow up and get educated-" he made a significant nod to the framed degrees on the wall -"Get a career, have families and start the cycle all over again. It's a rat trap in the laboratory of life, Dr. Quinzel. I came to realize that this is not the way it's supposed to go; this is not how the world should work. Well, I'm not so egotistical to assume I can change the entire world in one fell swoop but starting off with one of the most powerful cities in the country can't help. Not to mention home of the great Batman, who I _assure_ you...knows even a smidgen of what I know."

"Which is?" asked Harleen, glued to every word. She had stopped writing her notes as soon as he began to speak, transfixed with his every word, his unparalleled view of the world.

"Inside each and every one of us is our true self, just dying to pop out like a jack in the box. All you gotta do is wind the key the right number of times before he bursts out!" He threw his arms up in the air for emphasis. "Now, I can't get Batman to see things my way, he's one stubborn mule. But I got Two-Face to rework the fabric of society and that's something."

  
"Two-Face?"

"You would know him as Harvey Dent, former D.A. of Gotham."

"Yes," replied Dr. Quinzel hesitantly. "I heard he's been transferred here."

"You should go and meet him, see the fruits of my labor." Joker leaned over and loudly whispered, "But if he gives you some story about holding a revolver to my head don't bother to tell him it wasn't loaded. I don't want to crush his already fragile spirit."

"So, according to this, uh, theory of yours, all of us have an ultimate personality...an inner Joker?"

The Joker had never thought of it quite like that, and he found her choice of words stunningly brilliant. He laughed so hard his sides began to hurt. Unnerved by his laughter, Harleen mentally congratulated herself for figuring out his bizarre logic, even if it was serendipitous.

"Yes, yes, that is one way of putting it. But the only way to make people realize their true nature, as I define it, is to distort the status quo, turn it around, shake it all about and make it do the Hokey Pokey. Only when they're facing the absolute ruin of their reality can they achieve this goal."

"Chaos equals inner power...Power and chaos then?" said Harleen, echoing the message being spread across the walls of Gotham.

"I see somebody has been watching the news."

Their time was just about up and Harleen closed her file and went to toss it on her desk. "Interestingly enough, there are people who are absolutely convinced that the real Joker was not apprehended or somehow escaped and creating all of those messages."

The Joker let out an exasperated sigh. "If I were out there, I'd be doing a hell of a lot more than spray painting a couple of walls and lighting a dumpster or two on fire. Really, it's too small for my kind of thinking."

"Precisely what the Gotham Police Department has been telling the delusional morons who started those rumors in the first place." She turned her back towards him to look out the windows. The sun was setting and the room was filled with an eerie orange glow.

Joker was a little more than surprised at the tone of her voice. It almost sounded like she was defending him. And the way she so casually let her guard down in his presence...he could have easily stood up, walked over, wrapped his arms around her lithe neck and watch the life slowly drain away from those baby blue's. He would have done it too; he was so bored with life in Arkham...

And yet...he saw something in her eyes. She was hanging on every word he spouted but not the way everyone else did, with horror, no. She was genuinely fascinated. No longer in the form of analytical medical interest, but a sincere, personal interest. It was that enchantment in her eyes that kept him from killing her that very moment. He wanted to know where this could go and how far.

"What do you do on the days you're not sitting here picking away at my brain?" asked the Joker.

  
"Write reports, do some filing, see other patients."

"None as charming as me, I hope. I wouldn't want you be swept away by another fella."

Harleen smiled despite herself. She didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing it, but he was able to detect it from her reflection in the window. She looked over her shoulder at him in all seriousness.

"No, I've never met anyone quite like you in my whole life. I don't expect to ever again, either." She had meant it to come out sounding wry, even critical but for whatever reason it didn't and they both knew it but said nothing between them until after a guard came to collect the Joker. It was only after he left that Harleen could collect her poise.

 

* * *

 

Harleen forgot to remove her keys out of her purse before carrying her grocery bags up to her apartment. Now in front of her door she tried to balance one bag on her knee as she dug around her purse, hearing the familiar jingle of her overcrowded keychain.

"Let me help."

Startled, Harleen jumped back, dropping her keys, as the bag on her knee was lifted and she came face to face with the Batman.

  
"I...I ought to call the police, you know." She was visibly frightened and took on the defense. She had been keeping up with the news; there was a manhunt for him.

"I know I took a risk coming out tonight but I needed to speak with you."

Harleen bent down to retrieve her keys, her eyes never leaving him. "You couldn't have just come down to my office at Arkham?"

"I couldn't risk others seeing me."

"You mean you couldn't risk being seen by the Joker and Harvey Dent?"

"Anyone."

"Then why bother coming to me?" Harleen sighed.

"I'm asking you to remove yourself as the Joker's psychiatrist."

Harleen twisted her normally beautiful features into an ugly glare. Snatching back the bag he held for her, she snapped, "Where do you get off telling me what to do?"

"He's smarter than any other criminal I've dealt with. He's always ten steps ahead of the game and has an incredible talent for reading people and knowing what they're up to before they even know it themselves."

"Again, Batman, I fail to see how any of this is your concern anymore. You've done your self-appointed duty by apprehending my patient and that's where your part ends. Dr. Leland entrusted me with his evaluation,"

"Because she doesn't know about you."

Harleen froze, her pink pouty mouth becoming white with rage as she knotted up her face. It was only for a moment, but Batman saw it.

"And what, pray tell, could you possibly know about me that my own boss and mentor doesn't?" Harleen kept her breathing even though her mind raced with panic. What did Batman know? How could have found out anything about her? No one knew! _No one._

"I know you didn't earn your grades by studying."

"This is ludicrous," spat Harleen, putting her groceries down and angrily unlocking her door. "You can't prove anything."

  
"You're right, I can't. How you screw up is your own business but your life has now intertwined with a terrorizing madman and that puts everyone at risk."  
Harleen placed her groceries inside her apartment and turned around, gripping the doorknob with one hand and the door frame with the other, blocking the view behind her as she scowled up at the imposing vigilante.

"You know, Batman, when I was an undergrad at GSU Jonathan Crane was at the top of his game. He was revered, admired and a total golden boy. Nobody questioned his theories, his methods. But by the time I was in my last year Crane's alter-ego Scarecrow was already on the scene over at Arkham. Where was the love for the boy genius then? My dissertation on extreme personalities was initially snubbed, I will give you that. But when shit hit the fan and Crane was exposed for what he truly is?" A bright, cheerful smile spread across her face. "Suddenly my thesis wasn't so out of the realm of possibility."

"You continue to exploit the mental illnesses of others for your own purpose and you'll wind up like Crane or worse."

Harleen looked away, blinded by rage. When she turned back Batman was gone. "It's too bad I couldn't have gotten a hold of you back then!" shouted Harleen to the empty hallway. "You would have been the perfect specimen to study!" She slammed the door and locked it tight.

 

 

* * *

 

Running over the events of the day in mind, the Joker's thoughts kept coming back to his little therapist...and that hungry captivation she held for him. His own personal audience. So much potential for that kind of unabashed attention...so many stories to carve into her brain. Would he earn her sympathy, he wondered. And then it came to him like a stroke of genius.

_Of course._

It was staring at him in the face all of this time. Why didn't he see it as plain as the scars on his face? He hadn't planned on anything that extravagant for her, just a couple of dead end lies and maybe a few cuts around the inner thighs if he could garner enough sympathy to get her to spread 'em for him, but who better to take under his wing, embrace, cultivate and ultimately set loose on the unsuspecting citizens of Gotham than his very own psychiatrist?

 

* * *

**Notes:**  
\- When Joker was sizing up Dr. Quinzel and called her nymphet that was a paraphrase from a _Lolita_ quote.  
\- _Don't be silly, Toto. Scarecrow's don't talk_ is a direct quote from the film _The Wizard of Oz_.


	3. Simply Makes You Stranger - chapter three

** SIMPLY MAKES YOU STRANGER **

** Chapter Three **

 

Harleen was still pissed when her next session with the Joker rolled around. She was waiting for him to arrive in her office, pacing, trying to calm herself before their meeting. She had kicked over every piece of furniture in her apartment and still she was upset. Now she had the latest headline regarding the vigilante with large, block lettering **BATMAN** across the top tacked up on a bulletin board hanging on the wall, a fistful of black and red darts waiting to pierce the pulp. Again. 

She lunged two in a row, hitting the **B** and center of the second **A**. 

Harleen wasn’t arrogant enough to assume the Batman couldn’t figure out some way to prove her guilt. Even if it was circumstantial. Even if the department head sang like a canary it could be fought...sure. Why not? And why would he tell anyone? He would be in far more legal trouble than she would. Sure, her time at Arkham would end, but he would be ruined forever. Harleen grinned to herself. So let the Bat talk to the department head. That fathead is married, well thought of by his peers and students, sought after as one of the top modern scholars on the human mind. No way in hell would he risk a scandal and cave in to some masked weirdo. Batman won’t get anywhere. Her records are solid; she was smart enough to see to that. Nobody can argue with the official files. She was a legitimate doctor and that was that. 

Satisfied with this, Harleen let the final three darts whip in a triple roundhouse maneuver, pride washing over her that she still had it. A throat cleared behind her.

“Dr. Quinzel?”

Harleen started, seeing a guard with the Joker, who was grinning knowingly at her.

“Sorry.” She marched over to the bulletin board and quickly put the darts away in a locked drawer.Eying the Joker as he was about to sit, Dr. Quinzel called the guard back. “Just a moment, please.” Walking over to her patient, Harleen lifted the Joker’s hands by the middle of the handcuffs. “This has gone on long enough. It’s demeaning and distracting. Could you please remove them?”

The guard eyed the Joker warily. Tried as the Joker might, he could not feign an innocent, angelic look. Harleen did not notice but to the guard it looked like the triumph of evil. 

“I was told,”

“I’m overruling it,” snapped Dr. Quinzel. “I can’t allow it anymore. If he was going to kill me he would have done it already.”

Joker admired her for the bluntness of her statement. The guard no longer put up a protest but refused to do it, giving the key to Harleen to unlock the Joker herself. She did, focusing on the metal restraints as she felt the tips of the Joker’s fingers brush against the soft part of her palms, right under her thumbs. Struggling to keep her mind on the task at hand, she quickly unlocked the handcuffs, caught them as they dropped and handed them and the key to the guard.

“Thank you.” She turned away and swallowed down her flustered blush before sitting down. Rubbing his wrists as he sat down, the Joker eyed her with a mix of suspicion and regard.

“Nice roundhouses, doc,” said the Joker admiringly. He wasn’t kidding, either. A talent like that should not go unnoticed. “Not to mention good aim. Got a beef with the Bat?”

“I didn’t until he paid me a visit two nights ago.” She kicked herself for not taking down the headline prior to the Joker’s arrival; she didn’t want to talk about it but there was no point in denying it now.

“Hot date with Batman?” asked the Joker. “Did he jilt you?”

“Not quite.” She tightened her ponytail and brushed it behind her back. “I don’t think it would be good idea to discuss the details.”

“Come now, Dr. Quinzel, I’m a big boy. I can handle whatever sordid names the Batman called me.” He flexed back his arms and rested them on the arms of the chair, glad to be rid of those meaningless handcuffs. “You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“You have nothing to be concerned about,” she said dismissively, her emotions overruling her cautionary shield. “It was me he mostly insulted. What are your thoughts on the Batman, considering you have had numerous run ins with him during your..ah... _adventures_?”

Joker excused the poor transition with a bark of laughter. “Adventures? That has a nice, squeaky clean ring to it. Adventures with the Joker! Hmmm. Do you think I could patent that and sell it to a television studio? Do you think they would let me play myself or do you think they would say, ‘Sorry, Mr. Joker but I am afraid you are not nearly crazy enough to play yourself?’ I dunno, I think I have more of a classic profile for movies anyway, don’t you doc?” He turned his head side to side, displaying his scars to her. Harleen looked away and coughed.

“You are avoiding the subject again.”

“All right, Batman,” said the Joker pleasantly. “The Bat. Man is another excellent example of what I was talking about last time.” He held up his hands palms up like two platforms. “He and I exist on the same level of evolution. Whoever he is underneath the mask is unimportant because that is not his true nature. Batman is his absolute reality, regardless of how he got there.” Joker sighed. “I just wish he would give in a little and take a fucking joke.”

“Isn’t he rather counterproductive to your take on the world?”

“If there was someone who needed to be locked up and had his head examined, it would be Batman. If I’m in here, he should sure as hell should be here, too. If he’s out on the streets of Gotham, I should be out on the streets of Gotham as well. It’s an act destined to repeat itself. Like that children’s game with the little wooden blocks piled high to make a structure.” He pretended to build something, invisible block by invisible block. “I take out a piece,” he snatched at the air, “the structure wobbles, Batman holds it up. I take out another piece, the structure wobbles a little more but Batman continues to hold it up. Then I take out that _perfect_ piece, the one that triggers the big one and the whole thing comes crashing down on top of itself!” He chortled in triumph. 

“Where’s Batman then?” asked Harleen, curious.

Joker wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Where he should be and where he decides to actually go is totally different. Instead of accepting the annihilation of his beloved society, he helps those pitiful creatures rebuild it.”

“But you’ll keep knocking it down.”

“Right!” Joker cried proudly, pointing at her. “Y’see, it’s the only way for the rest of humanity to get the joke.” He spread his arms out wide and laughed. “No matter how many times they rebuild, I’m always going to knock it down. They should just give up, give in to the chaos and embrace their true nature.”

“Their extreme personality,” said Harleen quietly, beginning to understand.

Silently praising himself for such swift work, the Joker was now sealed with the idea to use Dr. Quinzel as his new pet project. His new interest didn’t curb the desire to want to give her a few slices of a good, sharp object but it was a start.

\-------------------------

“Cat kick the damn mouse’s ass!” 

Joker punched the air with his fists. He was hanging upside down on the ratty couch in the recreation room watching _Tom and Jerry_ reruns. Over the weeks some of the more feeble-minded patients decided that Joker was their new leader and best pal. He didn’t mind; he could talk circles around them for hours and they never grew tired of it. Just smiled, nodded and drooled. Joker could tell that the doctors were wary, carefully watching his influence over these highly impressionable minds. He made sure to keep conversation light and above their heads. 

“The mallet, you moron, pick up the mallet!” Joker shouted at the cartoon cat. The word _mallet_ was echoed throughout the common room. Joker was disappointed to see that asshole mouse Jerry trick the cat into holding a bomb sandwich. Joker rolled his eyes.

“I hate that mouse.”

Someone cleared their throat to the side of him. A brief flick of the eyes, the Joker saw two detectives flanking a familiar figure: Jim Gordon. Nurses and guards helped empty the room to give the lawmen their privacy. Groaning, the Joker turned back to his cartoons, ignoring his visitors.

“Shouldn’t you be rebuilding society or some other noble cause?” asked the Joker, never taking his eyes off the television.

“We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Why? You have me here, padded cell and all.”

“Do we really?” Gordon sighed, his hands on his hips. 

“You’re not actually buying into those rumors about midnight breakouts; escapes in the wee hours of the night only to sneak back into the confines of my cell by dawn, are you Commissioner? All for what? Hmm? A little fire and graffiti?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, knowing you.”

“You. Don’t. Know. _Me_.” It was barely audible but Jim Gordon heard it nonetheless.

“What can you tell us about this left over trash? They’ve been pretty slippery so far.”

“Lots of dark corners in this fair city.” He flicked his eyes briefly at Gordon and his tongue over his scars. “Perfect to hide in the shadows. Only the Shadow knows, Commissioner.”

“All right, let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you are telling us the truth. Just let us know the names of the rest of your gang and we’ll leave you to rot here in peace.”

“You think I bother to learn their names?” Joker laughed, throwing his head further back in glee. 

“We’re getting nowhere, sir,” said one of the detectives.

“This was a waste of time,” mumbled Gordon, turning to leave. 

“Why don’t you just have the Batman flush them out?” asked the Joker when the credits of his cartoon began to roll. “Oh, that’s right...he’s your new most wanted.” 

“Let’s get out of here,” grumbled Gordon, making a swift exit. The rest of the residents were filing back in slowly, a familiar _faces_ among them. He didn’t spot the Joker at first, only looked at the curious young man hanging upside down over the couch. 

Joker waited for Two-Face to notice him, but he merely passed him over, his weary gaze tired and sullen. A nurse came over to him and put her arms on his broad shoulders, smiling down at him.

“Glad you decided to come up and join us.” She said and went behind the nurse’s station. So Harvey Dent was still the hero to some after all. Joker kept his piercing eyes fixated on Two-Face, silently willing him to look over. _Look, Harvey Two-Face...notice me._

Jonathan Crane stared angrily at the Joker from across the room, having lost interest in his newspaper. Joker may be a better specimen as far as study of the human psyche went, but he was a total prick. Crane could actually see himself _liking_ Dent, pitiful though his case is. 

Finally, Harvey took notice of the man on the couch with the heavy stare. Something was amiss, though...something was dreadfully wrong with his otherwise young face.

“Joker?” Harvey breathed, realization washing over the intact side of his face. “Is that you?”

Joker waved. “Miss me?”

Harvey Two-Face leaned in, squinting his good eye. “You...you’re just some...some punk kid!”

“Now, now, just because it didn’t take me twelve years stuck in a classroom to wind up in some dead end job doesn’t mean you have the right to call me names.” Joker was leery as Harvey rose to his feet and walked over, stopping to loom over him. Tentatively holding his arms up to protect his face, Joker added, “You know, Harv, if we’re gonna be roomies we’re going to have to learn to get along.” For the sake of his plans the Joker was willing to get tousled around but Harvey just sat down on the other end of the couch instead, looking defeated.

“Do you know what I did after I left Gotham General?”

“How could I? From what I do know, the Batman took the heat.”

“So Gordon told me when I woke up.” He looked disappointed and miserable. 

Joker reached out and took hold of Harvey’s arm, shaking it as he spoke. “There, now, don’t be sad. You’ll do better next time.”

“Next time?” repeated Harvey, eyeing the psychopath.

“Sure. The first time is always the most challenging. But you know what they say: if at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try...right... _Two-Face?”_

That was the breaking point. Harvey grabbed Joker by the front of his shirt and began to shake him like a rag doll. Joker was in hysterics.

“There’s not going to be a next time, you demented clown!” Harvey shouted in his face. “You’ve ruined my life twice now!”

“Don’t be so quick to limit yourself,” said the Joker between peals of laughter. “Why don’t you flip your coin and find out?”

The orderly’s and two guards were already pulling them apart, hoisting Joker up and making him stand on his feet as Harvey was dragged in another direction.

“Give him some space,” said one of the lead guards. “Take the Joker back to his cell.”

Joker was enjoying himself too much; he was laughing so hard and loud that he couldn’t properly stand and had to be carried out by his upper arms. He could hear Crane consoling Harvey behind him.

“Don’t worry, Harvey, he seems to have that effect on everybody...”

\--------------------

“I heard you caused quite a commotion in the common room yesterday.”

Joker looked to be in a sour mood. He sat in the leather chair sideways with his legs draped over the arm. After being locked away for over a month now, Arkham was finally starting to make him feel claustrophobic and lazy. His skin was crawling, and he always felt itchy from the anxiety of being unable to run amuck on world outside the walls of Arkham. It was time to move forward with a bit more aggression. 

“Harvey can’t take a joke,” was all Joker said on the matter. 

Dr. Quinzel knew that something had transpired between the two men but as to what she had no idea. Arkham was not exactly the friendliest place to work at, nobody took a job there to make friends. Harleen had so few to call that anyway. Maybe even no one. And due to patient-doctor confidentiality laws she had no one to share her thoughts on the Joker with. Everything he told her, what little it was, was locked up inside her own mind and a few files in a cabinet. 

“What did you do to ignite his anger with you?”

“Ignite!” Joker merrily exclaimed, laughing finally. “That’s a good one.”

“I don’t understand-“

“I didn’t do much of anything to Harvey Two-Face. He just likes to hold grudges. I mean, really doc, I rigged him and his little lady up to those explosives what – six, seven weeks ago?”

“Explosives?”

“Yeah...I mean I knew one of them would go ka-boom but it obviously wasn’t him, right? So who is he to bitch and moan? Batman rescued him! If he has an ax to grind about his situation he needs to take it up with the Bat for not rescuing him properly.”

Harleen didn’t know how to reply. She tried to digest this objectively but her recent animosity for Batman would not give way. True, the Joker did set up Harvey and whoever his girlfriend was but Joker does have a point about Batman...if he was so intent on saving Harvey, why couldn’t he do it properly like he had for so many others?

“Doc, don’t you have a life outside Arkham?” asked the Joker suddenly. 

“Not really,” she replied with a dry laugh. “I’m here six days a week for at least eight hours...doesn’t leave me much time to have a social life outside of running errands.”

“And yet I only see you for one hour out of those eight you say you’re prattling about. Every _other_ day, no less. Give me a rundown of your day.”

“All right.” She thought for a moment, exhaling. “Wake up, eat, dress, go to the gym, and come here. Run errands, go home, got to bed. Rinse, repeat.”

“Gym?” he sneered at her. “Is that how you keep that striking figure?”

“I guess. I used to...no, you’ll just laugh.”

“To be fair, I’m laughing at everyone.”

“True.” _What the hell_ , she thought. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“Are we talking cheerleader, ra ,ra, ra or Olympics?”

“Olympics. I probably could have made it there, if my heart had been into it.” She said this with a touch of pride. It had been a gymnast scholarship that had got her into college. 

“Ah, but you gave it up for a far nobler purpose, didn’t you?”

“I like to think so, yes.”

“Show me what you got.”

“What?” she giggled with embarrassment, her blushing round face betraying her conservative appearance. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be professional.”

“Not to state the obvious, doc, but it’s just you and me here.”

Before she could catch herself Harleen blurted, “Well what are you going to do for me in return?”

She forced herself to hold his gaze, their eyes glittering with unspoken tension. He sat up properly in his chair and drummed his fingers on the arms and answered, 

“What would you _like_ me to do to you?”

Shocked by his question, Harleen refused to sit in uncomfortable silence. stood up, griped the back of the chair and dragged it out of the way. Kicking off her heels and discarding her badge Harleen moved over to the desk and bouncing on the balls of her feet, proceeded to complete three lightening quick full front flips. Seeing the Joker about to applaud, she held out her hand and he paused, waiting with a gleam in his eye and his tongue between his lips. She performed three back flips and a mid-air twist, landing on top of her desk, arms extended in victory.

“Very impressive, doctor. You sure you’re in the right business?”

“Positive,” she replied, elated from the rush as she hopped off her desk. 

“Guess I’ll have to honor my end next time,” said the Joker, pointing at the clock. They had less than five minutes remaining. She stopped just short of his chair and put her hands on her hips.

“You can tell me about your scars, then.”

“Clever,” said the Joker calmly. He leaned forward and with a single shake of his head whispered, “ _Not. Yet_.”

An orderly entered, ruining Harleen’s chance to answer.

“Would you mind knocking in the future?” Harleen asked curtly, winding her ponytail rapidly and twisting it into a knot on her head.

“No problem,” replied the orderly nervously, trying to figure out why he felt like he had intruded on something more than a session between patient and doctor.

As the Joker walked past he winked at Harleen. He looked over his shoulder as he held out his wrists compliantly for the guard to cuff. “Of course if you were really that curious you would just come downstairs and visit me.”

As always she let him have the last word.

\------------------------

That night as he lay awake in bed, the Joker was grinning from ear to ear, on a natural high of pride and mirth. The talent so brazenly displayed by his doctor should not go to waste. _No, indeed._ She had to be part of the bigger picture. 

_Funny how things work themselves out._

He went into Arkham knowing he would have to make his own fun. How could he have anticipated uncovering an accomplice? His maniacal laughter filled the otherwise empty floor, sending shivers down the spine of the lone guard outside his cell.

\---------------------

Harleen was restless when she returned home that evening. She tried to unwind with television but found it insufferably boring. Reading did not help either, and after pacing around her apartment as she ate out of last night’s Chinese take-out box, Harleen decided to take a bath. Her apartment building was old, brick inside and out, complete with hardwood floors and bad heating. One of the few consolation prizes of living in an old building was the large, free standing slipper clawfoot tub. 

_What did he mean_ , **_do to me_**? Harleen thought to herself as she leaned back against the slipper side. The phrase had been running laps in her brain all day. She was confident he did not mean to threaten her with violence; his boredom was plain as the scars on his face. He could have killed her for amusement at any time. He seemed to be enjoying his sessions more and more with her, though. His words never failed to spin a picture perfect view for Harley’s mental eye. _He certainly holds my attention_ , Harleen thought perversely. A part of her scolded her for being a little _too_ interested in what he had to say. 

_ Still. _

He was seemingly one of the youngest nuts in the nuthouse and the only regular interaction with another human Harley had that was even remotely social. Dr. Leland was her boss and didn’t count, nobody else at Arkham talked to her outside of business...she had too much respect for her athletic pursuits to be part of the meat market at the gym...she didn’t know her neighbors, and there was no love lost between Harleen and the people from University, most of whom turned their backs on her when her grades mysteriously elevated. With sad resignation, Harleen realized that the only person who consistently listened to her was in fact her deranged patient. 

_But who is to say that he really is deranged?_ Harleen thought, an indignant defensiveness rising in her. In one of their sessions last week the Joker argued that there was no such thing as insanity, only what was accepted by the established order which invented sanity. Him, his way of thinking and the way in which he had approached what he saw as his social obligation to show Gotham their true colors was not socially acceptable...so he was labeled crazy and locked away with others who thought “not just outside the box, but several bus trips away from the box altogether.” 

_So he is a little strange...where’s the harm in that?_ Ok, ok, he killed people. A lot of people. But surely something or someone must have driven him to these extremes. _You don’t just go from zero to mass murderer in clown make up overnight. Nobody could have **that** bad of a day._

Sighing as she slouched deeper into the tub, the bubbles piling high up to her nose, Harleen started to reexamine her original goal regarding the Joker. She had wanted to use the hype of his crimes to make her name. Previous thoughts like, _He’s a killer; he’d do a lot worse to you for a lot less_ suddenly began to melt away and alter to, _He’s done some bad things...that’s no reason to betray another human being, especially one who is finally starting to trust you_. The more she thought about taking advantage of the situation, the guiltier she began to feel. 

After her bath she wrapped her hair in a towel and dressed for bed, a red tank and matching boy shorts, able to finally lie on her bed and just relax. 

She eyed the original file given to her at the start of all of this madness. A corner piece of the photos sent over was sticking out, like a tease of something more. _Like the way he always snakes his tongue in and out,_ said a small, obscene voice inside Harleen. Biting her lip, she reached over and grabbed the photo. Lying on her stomach she looked at him, his make up and get up, with a new set of eyes. 

The outfit no longer seemed silly and cumbersome to her, but an ideal example of how he saw the world and expressed it: chaotic and simple with a vivacity that said _I color outside the lines, thanks much_. Beginning to understand the face paint as well, no longer thinking it as a mere scare tactic or just for the sake of drama, Harleen now saw it as a tangible way to convey the “true nature” of how he saw himself, the personality he painstakingly created from scratch. 

_He’s more attractive in the flesh though. Wonder if he has any other scars hiding about, waiting to be discovered by a tongue..._

Shaking her head violently, the towel falling from her head, Harleen kicked the pictures onto the floor. Alarmed at herself, she tried to silence that wicked, inappropriate, unprofessional voice. Once she took several deep, calming breaths and was able to think straight, Harleen used her big toe to slide the pictures under her bed. Wasting no time, she turned out her light and went to sleep.

 

** TO BE CONTINUED **

****

** Author Notes:  **

\- The Joker is notorious for being unable to get along with other villains, so much so he was denied membership to the Villains’ Secret Society in the Villains United/Infinite Crisis mini-series. He even murdered several members as a response to his membership denial. To quote Trickster: “When super-villains want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories.”

 


	4. Simply Makes You Stranger - chapter four

WARNING: NC-17 for graphic, kinky sex. 

 

 

“Dr. Quinzel?”

No response.

“Are you all right, Dr. Quinzel?”

            “Doc?”

The Joker’s voice woke Harleen out of her reverie. Inhaling deeply and exhaling through a smile, she laughed apologetically at the worried orderly.

            “Sorry, I must have been day dreaming.”

After several reassurances that she was fine, the orderly left them alone. Eyeing her with knowing suspicion the Joker sat opposite of her as usual.

            “What’s up doc?” he said. “Got a case of the Monday’s?”

            “It’s Thursday,” she corrected confusedly, unsure if he was just trying to be funny as usual or if he actually did not know.  _Or didn’t care._

            “You were in such deep thought,” he went on in his rare, deeper tone of voice. “Care to share about whoever preoccupied your waking dream? Hmm?”

            She wasn’t stupid, she knew what he wanted to hear. Luckily her cover wasn’t far from the whole truth.

            “Actually I was just wondering what you are hoping to get out of our time here together. You’ve talked about wanting to get ‘a good laugh’ out of the stay at Arkham as a whole.” She smirked. “I was hoping to hear that you have deeper expectations than that, though.”

             _You have no idea_ , thought the Joker as he gave her that cockeyed stare she was previously perturbed by, but now found profoundly intense, bordering on lascivious, as if he were trying to penetrate her mind with his thoughts.

            “I have,” he said at last.

She had been keeping his stare for so long she almost forgot the question. “A-and they are?”

            “The same as yours.”

            “Oh, no, I’m your doctor I don’t have any expectation-“

            “You do,” the Joker insisted mildly, his voice even. “Even if you don’t sense them as of yet...they are there.”

            They stared at each other in tense silence when a jovial expression washed over his face as he snapped his fingers. “You know what I just realized? I don’t know your first name.”

            “Oh. I, uh, fail to see the value in your knowledge of it. You know my last name, and I think it’s best we keep our titles, don’t you?”

Wagging his finger at her he replied, “That’s not very fair. You know my name. I can’t help it if it’s just one word.”

            Desperately she thought of anything else to distract him with. It was useless, he wanted to know her name and he would be relentless about it until she told him.  _Might as well get the hysterics over with now_. She mumbled something under her breath.

            “What was that?” the Joker asked, tilting his right ear towards her.

            “Harmmen,” she muttered through her teeth. Scooting to the edge of his chair he cupped his hands around his ears.

            “Beg pardon?”

            “Harleen.”

Slowly, the Joker took away his hands from his ears and faced her, bug eyed, sitting up rigidly. “Did you just say  _Harleen_?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Harleen Quinzel?”

            “Yes.”

            He was completely silent for a moment, enough to convince Harleen that he wasn’t going to laugh. Then he erupted in the loudest, most obnoxious roar of laughter that echoed from absolutely every direction. Clutching his stomach, the Joker tried to stand up several times, each time unable to straighten himself upright due to his hysteria. Dr. Quinzel took it like she always had growing up, impassive on the outside, enraged on the inside.

            “Har dee har har,” she grumbled with her arms crossed. His face suddenly contorted in pain as he slipped from the chair onto his knees and doubled over. Harleen wasn’t buying it until he exchanged his laugher for grimaces and groans of pain. “Are you all right?”

            “Not funny,” he groaned, rolling on his back and closing his eyes, falling completely still. Harleen stood up and looked down at him, trying to figure out if he was faking her out. Testing out his sincerity, she nudged his leg with the toe of her shoe but he did not respond.

            “Joker, that’s not funny!” She cried. Still no response. Panicking, Harleen knelt down, and without hesitation pressed her hand to his heart and her ear to his mouth, checking for breath. She felt the lightest of kisses flutter against her ear and a hand close around her own.

            “Why so serious, doc?”

            Alarmed, Harleen jumped back with a cry of surprise. The Joker was sitting up, laughing at her more subtly now. Furious at his callousness, Harleen threw all decorum out the window and hurled herself at him, shoving him against the chair as he pretended to fall over and held up his hands in a truce. Tears of humiliation filled her eyes as she scooted away from him.

            “All right, ok, I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up and inching closer to her even as she continued to back up until she hit the legs of her chair. “Don’t cry, doc, I won’t do it again, I promise.” He gave her a dazzling smile, the full effect of the Glasgow grin, but this only made her turn her head away. “Come on,” he egged on. “I know you can take a joke...”

            “I’m not mad at you,” she sobbed softly. “I’m mad at myself for telling you my name.”

            “Oh,” he said pitifully. “Now that’s not fair...you can’t blame yourself. Be mad at your parents for giving you such a horrendous name!”

            Despite herself, she laughed at this and nodded in agreement. On her good side again, the Joker scooted next to her on the floor and rested against the legs of her chair, putting his right arm on the seat so it almost looked like he had his arm around her.

             _She could have called for the guard outside_ , thought the Joker darkly.  _But she wanted to save me all by her little self. I think my little pet is getting a bit possessive of me...she’d rather let me die on her floor trying to save me herself than let a third party intervene. I like the way her mind is starting to think._

            “It is a terrible name, isn’t it?” sniffled Harleen, smiling.

            “It’s appalling, ghastly, atrocious, and not to mention most likely given in homage to quite possibly the trashiest pieces of literature known to mankind.” He beamed. “I love it.”

            “You do?” she giggled nervously, though dubious.

            “Yup,” he replied, casually covering her hand with his. Looking down at their hands together she discovered that her skirt had hiked up from shuffling across the floor, going from mildly inappropriate to indecent exposure of the control top thigh hi stockings. Before either of them could say another word, a knock at the door broke her attention away from him as she jumped up and straightened her clothes. By the time the guard entered the office seconds later, the Joker was already sitting at his seat as if nothing had transpired.

           

\-----------------------------------

            Harleen decided to take a long walk that night after she went home and changed clothes.

            “Why did I panic like that?” Harleen chastised herself out loud. “I knew he was just messing around with me...” Harleen could not yet say aloud that for a split second, she had cared about his well being so much she suddenly was unable to process anything else.

            She found herself prowling around neighborhood she wouldn’t have normally visited in the day time. Pulling her hood over her blonde head she kept close to the shadows.

            Even though she knew he had pulled a prank on her, Harleen could not help let her mind wander on the thought of what if...What if something happened to him? What if he pissed off the wrong person and got hurt? What if  _he_  attacked someone and was placed somewhere else, taken away from her? Her career would be back to square one, for one thing. She would be back to filing, assistant grant writing, and agonizingly long sessions with everyday maniacs and petty thieves who claim the voices told them to do it.

            Her chest tightening, Harleen suddenly remembered the trial that would eventually come between their time together. It would be long. He would probably be there all day, with her too but they wouldn’t be able to talk to one another without the presence of a lawyer and Dr. Leland. It wasn’t fair; she wanted him  _all to herself_. Harleen had to force herself from thinking these god awful thoughts.

            A neon sign caught her attention and she drifted over to a hole in the wall tattoo parlor. Her eyes roved over the front window displays of the artist’s specialties, stopping on a centerpiece figure of a thin, devilish joker silhouette, howling with laughter. How long she stared at the grotesque figure she did not know – only that a flickering light dancing in her peripherals caused her to be distracted and turn away. Down the alley three dark figures were running, a dumpster freshly ablaze. Harleen jogged after them but they were gone. She looked up at their message, the firelight heating up her already flushed face. Dripping in fresh blood red spray paint was the calling card message:

**POWER AND CHAOS**

\------------------

            In the common room the next day, the Joker smoothed back his hair and knocked on the nurse’s station window to the tune of shave and a haircut. He was disappointed not to see the nurse he referred to as Florence, or Flo, the nicest of the bunch. It wasn’t Ratched, either, though so there was still a chance.

            “Paper and pencil if you please.”

He hadn’t been permitted writing utensils since he arrived. No sharp objects meant anything but a blunt crayon. He didn’t blame them though. He could have taken out the entire asylum with a spork and paperclip.

The nurse eyed him suspiciously.

            “I’m not going anywhere with it,” he promised. “Just right over to that table.” He pointed at the closest table where checker eater Larry sat. “I won’t be more than five minutes.” She didn’t look convinced but gave him a piece of blank white paper and the dullest number two pencil he had ever seen. “Much obliged.” Humming to himself, the Joker twirled the pencil between his fingers as he sat down to write.

            “Hey, Larry, how you doing?” Joker said, folding the paper into two and tearing it in half. Larry held out a red checker. “No, thanks, I’m trying to cut back.”

             _What a dumb nurse_ , the Joker thought as he wrote quick and deftly.  _Little does she know...dullest pencils make for the most captivating magic tricks._

\---------------------

            “You wanna know how I got my scars?”

            Harleen looked up from her clipboard. In the past she was dubious as to the sincerity of her patient. Anytime she had tried to prompt him for this information only led to him shutting down the entire conversation altogether. Learning her lesson, Harleen had given up on the notion of ever learning the truth.

            Things were different now; she felt it ever since she had removed his metal restraints with her own two hands. She had flipped for him, literally, and this was finally her accolade. She didn’t need to answer him to let him know she was interested, merely give her undivided attention.

            “Years ago...I was on the lower rung of the operations, not even a middle man. I was a loner, I had no way of moving up the ladder. No friends, no family to put in a good word for me. And you know us lower guys don’t get our fair share of the cut. That’s why I always killed my hired help when I started to run my own enterprise...you know, so there wouldn’t be any  _disappointment_. Anyway, I just wanted my fair share. I mean, I’m the one doing all of the work, getting my hands dirty. It was only the way, right? Right?”

            “R-right,” replied Harleen.

            “Of course the boss...” the Joker rolled his eyes to the corners of their sockets and shook his head in dismay, “he doesn’t take kindly to the kid helping himself to the cookie jar so he sets up a mouse trap for me.” The Joker looked down at his hands, licked his lips compulsively as he steadied his breath. “It’s not like I didn’t put up a fight...there were just too many. One guy for each limb to keep me pinned to the ground and a fifth guy who actually did the slicing and dicing.” He traced one side of his face. “But they only did one side. They must’ve thought since I was a young whelp that only one side was necessary to get the point across.”

            Grimacing, Harleen felt her stomach churning and knotting up. She was almost afraid to ask.

            “Then, how,” she began.

            “I just thought it looked uneven,” he interrupted, shrugging nonchalantly.

She clutched her stomach and bent forward so her chest touched her knees, unable to look at him.

            “You did that to yourself?”

He leaned down to be nose to nose with her, smiling from ear to ear.

            “Don’t you see though? I got the last laugh! Next time I saw them they knew they hadn’t beaten me. I was the one smiling after all!”

            She wanted to pass out. He sat up in his chair.

            “What happened to them?”

            “Now, doctor,” he chided softly. “You know perfectly well what happened to those men.”

            She regained her composure and sat deeply against the leather chair in silence.

            “You wanted to know,” he reminded her.

            “I know,” she sighed. “And thank you for your, uhm, candor. I just...I mean I noticed they were uneven but I just figured...”

            “I may not be able to sit still in one place for very long but I am not a squirmer,” he said steadfastly, knowing what she had assumed. “I always take my pain and try to find the humor within. Once you uncover the humor you discover the pleasure. Like with these.” He pointed to his scars. “It’s the same with killing...snuffing out life. There might be pain at first...then you just start laughing and realize it’s all just a joke!” He laughed as a peculiar glint in his eyes shone at her. “What about you, doc? Take a little pain with your pleasure?”

            Amused by the indecency of the question, she broke into a fit of giggles. His expression did not convey that giggling was the exact intent of his question, giving her that intense cockeyed stare once again. He examined his pupil, unaware of his tutelage as of yet. She had given up wearing her white coat over two weeks ago...her reading glasses remained abandoned on her desk and the flashes of thigh were more frequent. He wanted to snip, snip, snip it all away...make some stocking lines of his own.

            When they were down to the last five minutes the Joker removed a piece of paper from his sleeve, smoothing it out he held it up between his index and middle fingers.

            “What’s that?” she asked.

            “On side one you will find my thirty day notice.”

She stared at him, stunned. Realized. “You’re going to escape.” It wasn’t a question so much as resignation.  He bent his wrist and twisted it, reversing the paper.

            “On this side is your invitation.”

            “My what?” she said hesitantly.

            “No use playing coy now, doctor.” He wriggled his fingers, making the paper rustle. She reached forward and took it, their fingers briefly interlacing just as a knock from the guard resonated throughout the room. Joker stood up and stretched.

            “I should report this,” she said softly, keeping her eyes on the folded paper.

            “You could. I guess I will know your answer one way or the other soon enough, hm?”

\----------------------------

_My God_ , Harleen thought, still overwhelmed by the revelation as she lay awake that night.  _He is the product of one bad day...But how he triumphed over his horrific ordeal! He came out a powerful individual, a man who now stands up to those who would judge him and bring him down. Nobody should take down a man like the Joker..._

            Her admiration for him turned to longing as she felt under her bed and brought up the picture she had hid there. Now the obscene voice was no longer small, but dominated her entire consciousness. She wanted to talk with him more, spend time with him. Harleen was convinced if she just had more time with him she could...

            Could what? Convince him to stay, for her sake? He would certainly laugh at that. Laugh all the way back to the streets of Gotham.

            But the invitation...

On her nightstand were the note and the now open files she had been expressly asked not to read. It was the first thing she did when he left her office, pouring over the sanguineous details of the nights he held Gotham in the palm of his hand. She memorized every act of terror, every murder and explosion and took them home with her. She also knew the note backwards. The first side read like this:

             **TENANT WILL BE VACaTING IN 30 DAYs (give or take)**

On the reverse side:

             **CHAOS is the _law of nature_. ORDER is the  _dream_ of mankind.**

**_Gnothi Seauton_**

            The latter meant  _know thyself_.

            Harleen thought she had known herself. She thought she wanted to be a world renowned psychiatrist; her specialty with extreme personalities would make her famous, take her places, and make her name sky rocket into the hall of fame of the great minds. Ever since she first laid eyes on the Joker she began questioning everything she knew about herself and the world around her. If he was such a so-called psychopath why did his logic make so much sense to her? Killer? Definitely. Madman? Just the opposite. Either way, he kept her on her toes, completely enthralled with a life filled with mirth, a life less serious.

            The more she thought about him, the darker, and more perverse her thoughts became. It was a warm night but shivers were running down Harleen’s spine as she ran her thin fingers over the front of her black silk camisole, desperately trying to imagine someone else’s hand caressing her. He probably wasn’t the caressing type, she reminded herself. No, there was a violent streak in him and she knew it. She saw it behind his dark brown eyes every time she caught him staring at her. At first she had assumed he wanted to kill her, and maybe he still does, but not before engaging in far more salacious acts first.

            The faceless flings of her vacation, so long ago now it seemed, were a complete shadow in comparison to the  _mere idea_  of the obsessive passion she was harboring for the criminal mastermind.  _Damn, it’s going to be a long night._

\-------------

            Late the following afternoon Harleen stayed behind in the big office, staring down at the decaying grim grounds of Arkham. It was nearly summer...flowers should have been blooming before now but nothing grew here. Maybe she should have taken that as a sign. It was too late now.  Across the river, downtown Gotham glittered in the last rays of the golden setting sun. Whatever chaos the Joker had left in his wake did not mar the beautiful scene before her eyes. A city going back to sleep, hoping to see dreams instead of nightmares.

            Harleen Quinzel knew right then and there that she had finally discovered her true self.

\-----------------------

            Wilson didn’t mind the night shifts. It was quiet. Most of them slept the whole night through. It was the perfect hours for Wilson to just let his mind wander. He had a chair, he was relaxed. Nobody ever volunteered to watch the number one lunatic in America but Wilson didn’t care. He had the whole floor to himself! No other crazies to egg him on, put on a show for, or give Wilson a problem.  _No one to hear you scream when he breaks the hell outta here._

            Wilson shut down that thought before it went anywhere else. He quickly replaced it with a lighter train of thought, about his old ’59 Chevy waiting at home in the garage, waiting to be restored once the long days of summer arrived. A smile began to spread across his face – then he felt a sharp string, like the bite of a particularly nasty insect and he was soon slumped over, dreaming about that cherry red finish.

            The Joker stirred, hearing a slight grunt emitting from outside his cell. He blinked several times, deducing nothing amiss. Relaxing once more, he almost fell asleep when the sudden unfamiliar sensation of someone touching his face jolted him wide awake. Raising up on one elbow the Joker remained uncharacteristically stoic as Harleen knelt beside his cot holding out something that gleamed in the darkness. Accepting the offering, he balanced the knife in his hands, quickly familiarizing himself with its weight and shape. If it had been anyone else, they would have already been lying in a pool of their own blood by now. But no one else would have been bold enough and that too must be acknowledged. She held his heavy stare, her eyes now devoid of anything other than complete devotion. Firmly gripping her wrist, his nails  _finally_  digging into that flawless milky skin, he pulled her into bed with him. The knife may not be one of his own, but it too will learn the ways of surrendering itself to complete chaos.

            The cots were built for single occupant only so the Joker straddled his new accomplice as they peeled the clothes off her body and threw them on the floor. Slapping her hands away from his as she tried to remove his shirt he eyed her warningly. Having a shy streak was something she would never have pegged him for, so she choked up the glare to being controlling, which only made her moan in anticipation as he disrobed himself and pinned her down against the mattress with his tall, lean body.

            “I promised I would do whatever you wanted me to do to you,” he said against her neck, the point of the blade resting dangerously upon her skin, right above her left breast.

            “Everything,” she whispered.

            “I don’t think you fully comprehend the meaning of  _everything_  as it means to me.”

            “Everything,” she insisted, wrapping her hand around his and delicately drove the blade across her skin. Sucking in her breath as she felt the sting of the shallow cut, she only displayed her continual arousal. She felt his lips turn into a wide smile; removing her ability to detect where his mouth ended and his scars began. Lifting the knife up and forcing her arm above her head he shifted his body between her spread legs, moved closer to the bleeding wound and with one, tantalizingly slow lick, lapped up all of the blood and smeared it on her cheek. Her moan was cut off as her crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue feeding her own blood. She did not realize that he had ceased holding her arm down until she felt the increasingly familiar sting at the inside of her right thigh. He cut several lines in quick, upward flicks of his wrist, one right after the other. She wrapped her left thigh around him, running it down his back. Abandoning her mouth, his lips and scars stained with blood, he moved back to her breasts, biting down so hard she cried out, pleading for more.  Several times she felt his teeth sink so deeply, breaking the skin. He had the knife lightly grazing down her sides, her muscles convulsing in response to the ticklish prickling. The more her skin inadvertently twitched the more intently he paid attention to make the cut deeper. Straddling her once more, he guided the hand above her head at her own body and forced it to feel her bleeding wounds. Making circle motions so her entire hand was a bright red he then took the bloody hand and made a print mark in the center of his torso.

            “You’re mine now,” he said maliciously, a lewd smirk on his face. Turning her hand back on herself he used the remaining blood on her hand to make another handprint on her belly. He sat atop her, contemplating, as he moved the knife between his hands. The smirk returned, his eyes sinking deep into hers as he lie on his side, his back crushed against the wall, cradled her neck with one arm and rubbed the other, the hand holding the knife, against her unmarked thigh. Violently quivering, Harleen had trouble keeping the taunted leg from moving. He took care of that, weaving her leg between his so it was not only upright but far apart from the other leg.  Her body stiffened and her mouth dropped but no sound came out as she felt the handle of the knife being thrust between her legs. His fist expertly closed on the blade, he plunged the knife handle repeatedly inside her, and proud she did not stop him but gyrated against it, working her body as she might any lover. Her climax building, she wrapped her right arm around his neck to help steady herself as her body quickened, desperate to keep up with the thrusts, even as he lifted the handle higher off of the bed.  Her hips snapping rapidly higher, she threw her head back against him and came in one final shuddering moment. Harleen had no time to form a thought before the Joker was covering her bloody, sweat slicked body, their mouths interlocked once more.

            Running her fingers through his sweaty hair she felt his hand roughly lifting her left thigh and pushing it out to her side. She didn’t have long to wonder what his next magic trick was before he was pounding inside of her, her body on fire once more. Her arms wrapped around his neck she could no longer keep him in her mouth, tossing her head back in a lust drenched scream, arching her back and hooking her right leg around him, pushing him in deeper. Grunting at the unexpected enthusiasm from his pet the Joker took this as assent and lifting her left thigh on shoulder doubled his efforts, roughly slamming the full weight of his body against her. Her cries were like music to his ears as he struggled to keep the laughter back in his throat, his nails tearing at her already raw skin. Feeling her hips lift him to meet his assaulting trusts, the Joker was struck with a perverse idea. He abruptly stopped.

Growling, Harleen snapped, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

            His face cracked that all too familiar Glasgow grin but he did not answer her. She tried to move but his body pinned her down. An anguished cry escaped her lips.

            “Please,” she begged breathlessly, caressing his impassive face, running the back of her hand sweetly across his scar. “Please.”

            Rubbing his nose against hers he pretended to think it over. “Since you said  _please_.” Screaming as he suddenly grabbed a fistful of her blonde hair and wrapped it around his hand, using her as an anchor for his renewed thrusts. The pain was excruciating, he was pulling so hard. Within a few minutes, however, the pain began to blend with the erogeneity that washed over her, wave after wave, even as she was surprised to hear a small, barely audible groan escape his lips as he finished. Releasing her hair and disentangling himself from her limbs, the Joker pushed Harleen on her side and, arranging himself behind her, wrapped one arm around her and lay with his body pressed against hers. She felt the knife being placed carefully between their flesh and she kept still accordingly.

            “Forgot your back,” he mumbled, clearly tired but unrelenting. Fatigued, Harleen closed her eyes and focused on the closeness of their bodies rather than the lesson of the knife against her supple back. She could feel every detail of his face, his scars, lips, nose, every time he blinked his lashes brushed against her skin. Contented with whatever he continued to do to her, Harleen drifted to sleep.

            Refusing to sleep until he had marked her back in some way, the Joker started to etch with the very tip of the blade, his thoughts on his Harleen.

            She utterly belonged to him, all his to toy with, to cut to pieces, to fuck with mind and body, to sit rapt with attention and hang on his every word. Most importantly, she was his to transform and show Gotham all of the fun they would have if they just let a little chaos into their lives. After all, it was his strong belief that whatever (or whoever) didn’t kill you simply made you stranger.

  **TO BE CONTINUED**

\----------------

Joker's note had a paraphrase from a Henry B. Adams quote.

The story I have Joker relate about his scars is merely my own hypothesis but has absolutely no validity. Assume like Nolanverse Joker that he is lying.

The next fanfic, A Better Class of Criminal, is the continuing story.


End file.
